


Wedding Party

by FloreatCastellum



Series: Slice of Life One-Shots [19]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Harry, F/M, Gen, Party, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-06-22 11:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19666279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloreatCastellum/pseuds/FloreatCastellum
Summary: Scenes from Harry and Ginnys post-elopement party.





	1. Minerva McGonagall

Sparrow Cottage was heaving with people, laughter and chatter crammed into the kitchen, living room and dining room, spilling out into the back garden, clinks of glasses and the sounds of people spotting old friends and the smell of the canapes rising up into the inky sky above. 

Minerva had been surprised, but delighted, to receive the postcard. On the front, in black and white against a dramatic, rugged background, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley laughing at one another, the train of her long, slender wedding dress rippling out behind her, her bouquet of lilies dropping slightly as the photo Harry clutched her close and kissed her. On the back, it had simply read, ‘We got married! It was a secret, sorry you couldn’t be there - please join us on the 31st of July from 6pm onwards so we can make it up to you. Address below - please let us know if you are bringing a plus one.’ 

Minerva had arrived at half past six to find the part in full swing already, but tight security to get through. She gave her name, though realised it was unnecessary as she recognised the aurors on the gate as old students of hers. She greeted them warmly as they apologetically ran their dark magic detectors over her. 

‘I hope you will get to enjoy some of the party,’ she said to them, wincing as she sipped the polyjuice potion antidote they gave her. 

‘We’re in shifts,’ Williamson assured her. ‘I’m sure we’ll bump into each other later, Professor. Enjoy your evening - just go right in.’ 

So she proceeded to the stone cottage, spotting busy, joyful crowds through the window already, including Hagrid’s massive frame. She left her gift on the table that seemed to have been hastily conjured up in the hall and pushed her way through the crowd, seizing a gillywater off a tray that floated past as she did, briefly pausing to congratulate Molly Weasley, who she had spotted refilling a tray of canapes. 

‘I am SO sorry you couldn’t be there, Minerva,’ said Molly fiercely, her lips pursing. ‘I hope you’re not too offended-’

‘Not at all, I’m delighted they thought to invite me to thi-’

‘You know what the pair of them are like, once they get an idea in their head. No convincing them.’ 

‘Indeed,’ smiled Minerva, thinking back with affection. 

‘I mean, you’d have wanted to be there, wouldn’t you?’ Molly demanded. ‘To see the actual ceremony - a wedding is more than a big party, isn’t it?’ 

Minerva sipped on her gillywater, and then asked, delicately, ‘where are the happy couple?’ 

‘Oh, er… ‘ Molly squinted as she gazed around the crowded kitchen. ‘I’m sure I saw Harry in the living room… I have no idea where my daughter got to. Excuse me, I’ll just-’

And she was off, carrying the tray of smoked salmon blinis with her. Minerva continued through the crowd, giving a merry wave to Hagrid who was talking so enthusiastically with Charlie Weasley that his gesturing arm swept Demelza Robbins off her perch against the table. The clatter of glasses she brought down with her caused light jeers, and Gwenog Jones hurried forwards to help pick her up.

The dining room, on one side of the kitchen, seemed to be given way to dancing; Minerva had never been good at knowing who sang the latest songs on the wireless, but everybody in there seemed to be enjoying themselves - as she glanced through, she saw Hermione Granger’s bushy hair fly past as Ronald Weasley swung her enthusiastically around. Quite frankly, it looked dangerous, and not at all where she wanted to be. 

She continued on to the living room, equally busy but filled with the rhythmic hum of more civilised conversation and snatches of laughter. She saw Kingsley Shacklebolt talking to Andromeda Tonks, and was about to go and greet them when she heard a cheerful voice. 

‘Professor!’ 

She turned to see Harry Potter beaming at her - she beamed back and kissed him on each cheek as she greeted him. She had seen him since his school days, of course, but perhaps there was something different now or perhaps she had simply never noticed him grow from a teenager into a confident, handsome young man, looking more like his father than ever. 

‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, looking delighted. 

‘Congratulations, Harry,’ she told him. ‘And happy birthday.’ 

He laughed. ‘How on earth did you remember that?’

‘What?’ exclaimed the young woman standing beside him. Minerva recognised her - she’d been in Ravenclaw a few years ago - Higgles? No, Miss Higglesworth. ‘Harry, you didn’t tell me that!’ 

‘Thought I’d handle two bludgers with one swing,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Professor, how are you?’ 

‘You know, you are no longer at school,’ she said, amused. ‘You’re perfectly free to call me Minerva.’ 

He chuckled. ‘Absolutely not. Never. I’m too scared you’ll take points off me.’ 

‘It never seemed to bother you at school,’ she said with a sly smirk. His refusal to use her name did not upset or offend her - everyone said that at first. Within a few years they usually got used to the idea.

‘It certainly did, no one made me feel guiltier than you. Except perhaps Dumbledore.’ 

‘Perhaps you might have behaved yourself more, then,’ suggested Minerva, which made Higglesworth snort with laughter and Harry chuckle. ‘Or at least come to a teacher now and then, rather than running off and solving adult problems yourself.’

‘I can only apologise for the absolute nightmare I must have been,’ he said, grinning sheepishly. 

‘Do you know, I don’t usually get that sort of apology until my old students have children themselves,’ she said. ‘I vividly remember your father saying something similar with you perched on his knee. And now look at you. Married.’ 

He tilted his head at her, grinning more broadly than ever. ‘My finest achievement,’ he said, and she could see that he meant it. ‘I-’

But he was interrupted by something colliding, hard, into his leg - it made Minerva start with surprise and take a step back, but he simply grinned and with a melodramatic groan, picked up the small boy who was squealing against him. 

‘Hello, mate,’ he said proudly, hoisting the boy onto his hip with a slight bounce so that his blue hair flopped. ‘Have you been dancing?’ 

‘Excuse me,’ mumbled Higglesworth, who had gone scarlet as the little boy giggled. She slipped away without a backwards glance - Minerva thought she saw Harry’s eyes follow her for a moment, but then he was grinning back at the boy. 

‘This is Professor McGonagall,’ he told him. ‘She’s the Headmistress of Hogwarts. Professor, this is Teddy.’

‘Lupin?’ she asked quietly, and Harry nodded. ‘Hello, Teddy,’ she said, and the little boy smiled at her. She never knew what to say to really small children. Teenagers were easier. She always found herself, around small children, saying the sort of things she had hated as a child. Things like… ‘When I last saw you, you were just a baby,’ she said. 

‘Oh,’ said Teddy, which was reasonable, as what were you supposed to say to that? 

‘Professor McGonagall helped me out a lot at school,’ Harry told him. ‘You remember that story about the nasty lady that hurt my hand?’ Teddy nodded, and Harry nodded at Minerva with raised eyebrows. ‘Professor McGonagall shouted at her for me when she said I couldn’t be an auror.’ 

The little boy smiled in such a way that it seemed to crumple Minerva’s heart - it was Nymphadora’s smile. Completely. ‘I did,’ she said, keeping her face pleasant. ‘I thought it was very important that your godfather become an auror. I’m informed I was right, and that he’s very good at it.’ 

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Harry lightly. ‘You might want to go and speak to the man singing Jerusalem on the patio.’ 

But a slightly pink tinge had appeared on his cheekbones, and he smiled at the floor before looking back at Teddy. 

‘They want you to come and dance,’ Teddy told him. 

‘Who does?’ Harry asked warily. 

‘Ginny and Ron and Hermione and George-’

‘All right, all right, I get it,’ said Harry, shaking his head and grinning. He glanced apologetically at Minerva. ‘I’ve been summoned.’ 

‘Quite all right,’ she assured him. She peered back into the kitchen to see Lee Jordan, in a circle of cheering onlookers, balancing a galleon on it’s rim on his nose. ‘I think it would be entertaining to go and give Mr Jordan a shock.’ 

Minerva greatly enjoyed the rest of the evening - there were many old friends to catch up with, and many double-takes from old students who seem to panic as though they were doing something wrong. 

But it was not until the very end of the evening, when it all started getting a little rowdier and she thought it was best she made her farewells, that she spoke personally to Harry again. He was in the front garden, apparently bidding Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott goodbye, when he caught sight of her. 

‘Professor!’ His voice was so loud and exuberant that she immediately had to put her teacher face on to resist laughing. ‘Are you going?’ 

‘I’m afraid I am, Potter,’ she said, noting with amusement his flushed face and slight sway. 

‘Oh no,’ he said darkly, turning to Longbottom who was laughing, ‘she’s using my surname again.’ He looked back at her, grinning. ‘What have I done, Professor?’ 

She might have been back in the old headquarters, looking over at James Potter. The only thing missing was Sirius Black at his side, ready to chip in with an extra witty comment. 

She simply smiled at him, and said, ‘it’s been a wonderful evening, thank you so much for inviting me. My very best congratulations to you and your new wife.’ 

‘Professor,’ he said seriously, ‘thank you for coming. Really, I owe you so much - not just the Umbridge thing, but the whole, you know, putting me on the Quidditch team and just, you know, putting up with-’

‘Nothing to put up with!’ she said hastily, exchanging an amused glance with Longbottom. ‘You know full well you were the favourite for both myself and Albus-’

Longbottom gave a melodramatic gasp and grinned at a tittering Hannah Abbott. ‘She admits it!’ 

‘Professor!’ he exclaimed again, and to her surprise (but secret pleasure) he hugged her, causing her to stumble slightly under his weight. ‘You’re the best - I had to be an auror after that, couldn’t let you down-’

‘HARRY! JESUS CHRIST, HARRY!’ 

Minerva was too busy laughing and patting Harry on the back to pay much attention to Ronald Weasley’s frantic shouts or Neville Longbottom’s hysterical laughter. 

‘And my broomstick!’ Harry was shouting over her shoulder. ‘My first broomstick, that was an amazing broomstick, I miss my old Nimbus-’

‘HARRY!’

She felt Weasley pull him off, and saw his horrified, freckled face. ‘Professor, I am so sorry, he always gets like this-’

He was holding Harry by his collar, but Harry shoved his hand over Weasley’s mouth and continued. ‘And! And thank you for saying I wasn’t going to die when Trelawney made that prediction, that was a big weight off my chest-’

‘You’ve drank too much,’ Weasley said sternly, jerking his head out of the way of Harry’s fumbling hand. ‘Stop going round hugging everyone.’ 

‘He’s all right,’ said Minerva wryly. ‘He’s not my student anymore.’ She smiled at Harry. ‘I’m very touched - I have to thank you, too, for defending me in Ravenclaw tower.’ 

Harry scowled, and looked at Weasley. ‘Oh, he was a DICKHEAD-’

‘Yes, all right-’ said Weasley, exasperated. ‘Sorry again, Professor.’ 

‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ she said warmly. 

Harry looked back at her as though to say something, but did a double take over to his right, his face lighting up in joy. ‘HAGRID!’ 

He wrestled past Ron and hurried away, leaving Minerva unable to hold her giggles back any longer. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m very pleased to see him so happy.’ 

Weasley sighed. ‘I reckon he’s safe talking to Hagrid for a bit before I have to babysit him again. Thanks for coming, Professor.’ 

‘Make sure you tease him about this,’ she advised him, returning her expression to one of utmost sternness. They laughed, and she wished them goodnight, walking back out through the gate and down the dark lane to the apparation point. 

There had been a moment, a horrifying, devastating moment, some years ago, when she had looked upon Harry Potter and believed that he was dead. The instant, powerful grief that had gripped her heart had forced images of him nervously walking towards her and sitting on the little three-legged stool, of her looking back at the little bundle on a doorstep during a cold November night, of a man, who looked just like him, holding up a gurgling baby and proudly saying, ‘you’ll have him to deal with in a few years, Professor M!’ 

Yet now here he was, joyfully celebrating his marriage, very much alive. She was glad it was dark, as a few others were walking along the lane to the apparation point too, and she would hate for them to see the tears on her face.


	2. Dudley Dursley

A P.S had been added onto his postcard. _Very rude of us, but I don’t think it will be possible to hide our lot - not sure you will be able to bring H. Very sorry and understand if that means you’d rather give it a miss. Still hope to see you there._

He was not sure if they did hope to see him there, or if they were just inviting him out of politeness and hoping he wouldn’t come. It was the sort of thing he would ask Cinthy about, but of course he couldn’t, because then he would have to explain why she couldn’t come, and he did not want to have to explain the idea of… magic… to his wife. She would think he’d lost it. Probably divorce him. 

So he deliberated on whether to go at all - it wasn’t like a proper wedding, it wasn’t something he felt any kind of family obligation to attend, it was just a party. Dudley had invited Harry to his wedding, because he hoped it might repair things. His memory was a little fuzzy, probably because of all the wine, but he remembered it had been wonderful, if a little awkward between Harry and the rest of them. And Marge. Yes. Harry had been very annoyed that he’d been put with Marge. This had surprised Dudley, who had always found his aunt to be lovely, but there was no accounting for how Harry got on with people sometimes. 

All the same, he was quite curious. He’d missed getting little glimpses into that whole other world, and now that he so rarely saw Harry (and never Dedalus or Hestia, who had never left contact details), he had sometimes wondered if he had just been punched too hard in a boxing match and dreamed it all up. So although he still felt very much afraid of it all (his tongue and the spot at the top of his bum where the tail had grown tingled horribly), he also felt a bizarre pull - a curiosity, even - to go and see more. 

So he told his wife that he was being sent to host a stand at Exeter University’s career fair, horribly aware that if she discovered he wasn’t there she would think he was having an affair, and got the train from Paddington station, nervously wondering if anyone there would know he was a - what was the word? Moogle? Maggle? Noggle. Naggle. 

‘Mmm...meggle,’ he muttered quietly to himself, watching the countryside fly past out the window. 

He had to change at Exeter, to get on an older, smaller, emptier train which rattled its way to Ottery St Catchpole, a pretty little village he faintly remembered from being briefly dropped off there after their year abroad. Then he had to get a taxi too. 

It baffled Dudley that anyone would want to live so in the middle of nowhere, so distant from all convenience, so surrounded by old stuff. The taxi took him down winding roads and up a steep hill, further and further away from the village, until there were no more street lights or even pavements on the lanes, and he wondered if anyone lived out here at all. Didn’t Harry ever miss nipping to the corner shop to get a Mars bar? 

‘Is it here, mate?’ asked the taxi driver awkwardly. ‘My SatNav’s gone bonkers, for some reason, leaping about everywhere. But I don’t think there are any houses up here except that one. I didn’t even know anyone lived up here, to tell you the truth.’ 

‘Er…’ Dudley leaned forward, and squinted through the window. ‘Yeah, I reckon it must be… Looks like a party, doesn’t it?’ 

He wasn’t being rude, he was genuinely asking. A large group of people appeared to be lazily queuing up at the gate; it was dusk, but Dudley could see lots of pointed hats and long, flowing robes as they chattered and laughed and waved at one another in greeting. 

‘Ah, mate,’ said the taxi driver sympathetically. ‘No one told you it was fancy dress. Never mind. Better than the other way round, eh? Tenner, anyway, mate.’ 

Dudley paid up, and nervously got out of the taxi, joining the queue of people. He felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb, in his chinos and shirt and smart jacket, but nobody seemed to give him a second glance. 

‘Oh my goodness! Justin!’ 

‘Hello, lovely, it’s been a while! Look at you!’ 

‘Oliver! Saw that bludger last week - nasty - you on the mend?’ 

‘Oh! Padma! Look! Is that Neville and Hannah? HEY! Neville! Hiyaaaa!’

‘Good heavens, what on earth is Looney Lovegood wearing? D’you see that?’ 

‘Right, five galleons to whoever finds out who sent the Prophet the picture on the invite.’

Dudley had the same feeling he used to get before matches. That sort of fluttering feeling, like his breath was bouncing around the top of his chest. He stood awkwardly amongst the crowd, listening to them all… knowing… each other, feeling too large for his own body. 

Finally, he made it to the gate. He hadn’t realised there would be security - two scarlet robed men stood with clipboards and a variety of strange, silver looking instruments. It was all a bit over-kill for a house party. 

‘Name?’ asked the bearded man, glancing at him briefly. 

‘Dudley,’ he said. ‘Dursley,’ he added, as though there would be another Dudley. 

The man’s expression didn’t change - there was no spark of recognition, or ‘oh, Harry mentioned!’ or anything at all. He simply scanned down his list, scratched his odd, feather pen against Dudley’s name, and said, ‘my colleague Williamson will be using some standard detectors on you, and if you wouldn’t mind taking a sip of this polyjuice antidote-’

‘Oh, I’m not one of your lot,’ Dudley blurted out, and the two men froze, staring at him. 

‘Excuse me?’ growled Williamson. 

‘I’m not one of you,’ Dudley said again, though he wasn’t sure why he was saying it. The men were reaching for their wands, and Dudley felt, rather than saw or heard, the people behind him backing swiftly away. ‘I’m a… moogle? Maggle?’ 

The men were squinting at him, one of them with his mouth slightly open. ‘Muggle?’ suggested the other, hesitantly. 

Dudley snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it. Yes. So… I don’t want to try any of your… funny… stuff, please,’ he said, gesturing at the little glass vial the man had held out to him and frightened him with in the first place. 

‘I didn’t know there were muggles coming,’ said Williamson, looking completely taken aback. 

‘Neither did I,’ said the other man, who looked rather panicked. ‘Does any of this stuff even work on muggles?’ 

‘I’m Harry’s cousin,’ Dudley said, by way of an explanation. He was feeling rather embarrassed now, but the silver instruments were scaring him, and he was not going to drink the milky white stuff in the little glass vial. 

‘So… you don’t have a wand?’ asked Williamson. 

‘God, no,’ said Dudley, who felt positively alarmed at the prospect. 

‘If he doesn’t have a wand he couldn’t do anything,’ he muttered to the other. 

‘Right, but he could be lying-’

‘So pat him down!’ 

‘I still think we should make him drink the-’

‘We don’t know how that works on muggles, what if it kills him or something? Maybe we should call Arthur Weasley down-’

‘No, don’t bother him, he’s not meant to be working tonight-’

Eventually, Dudley found himself turning out his pockets and being awkwardly patted down to ensure he didn’t have a wand on him, before finally he was let through. He walked up the long garden path, and looked up at the house properly for the first time. It looked as though it had once been a farm house, built of large stone bricks and a slate roof - quaint and charming and old looking; the sort of house Mum always said was nice enough for a holiday but impossible to keep warm and clean, and Dad always described as overpriced because people were fixated on character rather than driveway space. 

‘Hey! Hey, you!’ He turned, and saw a man hurrying eagerly towards him. ‘I was stood behind you in the queue - did I hear right? Are you a muggle? Fascinating!’ he said, as Dudley nodded hesitantly. 

‘I’m… I’m Harry’s cousin,’ he mumbled. 

‘Are you?’ asked the man, with great interest. ‘I didn’t know he had a cousin. Ernie.’ 

‘Dudley,’ he replied, shaking the man’s hand. 

‘I expect Harry’s told you about me - I’m an old D.A hat, of course - delighted to be invited to this, naturally - bit of a faff at the gate, but then, you know what Harry’s like!’ 

‘Yeah,’ said Dudley, feeling flummoxed. 

‘Ginny surprised me, with the elopement, she was always quite sociable at school - I’m sure you know, brimming with confidence - but I suppose maybe that’s why they’re throwing this. Eh?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Ginny’s simply wonderful, I think we all fancied her at school, just one of those people, you know - she shines. And the wit on her - always brightened up a D.A meeting, you know.’ 

‘Right. Yeah, she’s funny,’ Dudley said, who vaguely remembered the redhead on Harry’s arm from his own wedding. He tried to think about her being funny, but again his brain felt rather fuzzy when tried to focus too hard on that evening. Hyacinth’s family had like her though - they’d brought her up specifically, he remembered. 

‘You and your parents must have been so worried about him during the war,’ Ernie said in a low voice. ‘I mean, cripes, we all were. Whole country was, really, wasn’t it. But it must have been so hard for you lot, you must have felt so vulnerable - I assume you were under protection? Given your closeness to Harry?’ 

‘We went to Spain,’ said Dudley, still rather taken aback. ‘It was all right, you know…’ 

‘Listening to Potterwatch with the rest of us, were you?’ said Ernie, nodding sagely. ‘Great comfort, that was. You knew he was still alive if that programme was still going, didn’t you? I know many have asked him to bring it back, but it was just that final episode after the battle and that was that - of course, you wouldn’t expect anything else from Harry, would you?’ 

‘Er, no…’ 

They squeezed into the house - quite literally, because it was mobbed with people. He placed his gift (a set of towels) on the overloaded table in the hallway, and edged through to the kitchen, instinctively following the crowd. 

‘I do beg your pardon,’ said Ernie cheerfully. ‘It was lovely meeting you, but I just spotted an old friend and I must say hello - speak to you later!’ 

But Dudley was barely listening. His breath had hitched in his throat - dominating the room, looming over them all, was the huge, monstrous, beast of a man that had inflicted the curly little tail on him. Panic rose, his heart was hammering in his chest as he stared at the man, who was having to duck slightly where there were thick wooden beams across the ceiling, his booming voice rising above the chatter of the crowd. 

‘Bes’ ruddy wizard in history, in my opinion! And a thumpin’ good man to boot! Our Harry would do anything for yeh - I remember, when Aragog died-’

‘Dudley!’ 

He jumped as a small hand touched his arm, and he wheeled round in a panic to see Ginny, smiling up at him. 

‘Good to see you,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’m so glad you came. Are you all right?’ 

‘I- I-’

Her eyes flicked over to Hagrid, and then back to him, and she patted his arm reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry about Hagrid, just relax, enjoy yourself. Drink?’ 

She clicked her fingers, and a tray, completely of its own accord, suddenly floated above the heads of the crowd and lowered itself before them. On it were an assortment of glasses, each with a different coloured drink in it, some with decorative garnishes. 

‘What’s your poison?’ she asked. ‘Elf made wine? Oak matured mead? Butterbeer? Gillywater? Firewhiskey?’ 

‘Er… I…’ 

‘You look like a firewhiskey man, to me,’ she said with a wink, and she lifted a slightly smoking glass, in which was a burnt-orange coloured drink, along with little stones that seemed to crackle and glow like embers. ‘Enjoy,’ she said cheerfully, pressing it into his hand. ‘I’ll let Harry know you’re here, if I can find him in this madness!’

Before he could say anything else, she’d walked smoothly away. He looked down at the liquid. His parents, especially his mother, would have been appalled. They had talked for weeks about that bearded man trying to poison them with the flying drinks. But he could see lots of other people drinking it. 

He took a sip. It tasted very much like normal whiskey, but smokier, and the burn in his throat was more pronounced, yet somehow less painful, and it made him think of cosy woodburners in quaint Scottish bothies. 

He looked around. Now that he was here he didn’t really know what to do with himself. Even if he did find Harry, he couldn’t attach himself to him all night. 

He found himself drinking the rest of his firewhiskey quite quickly, simply because he had nothing else to do and wasn’t yet confident enough to start talking to all… this lot… just yet. There were little canapes floating around too, and though it took him some time to summon up the nerve (the trays were floating through midair with no visible strings, after all), they looked quite normal, so he helped himself to goat’s cheese tartlets, satay chicken skewers, and breaded prawns. And another firewhiskey. He tried to avoid looking like a lemon by looking at all the pictures on the walls and sides - they had caught his eye because they were moving, like little silent films, and so he could stare at each one for a long time. Most were filled with people with flaming red hair, but there were some with a little boy with hair of many different colours, and another of a man who looked strikingly like Harry, with a woman who looked a little like Dudley’s own mother, but with deep red hair. 

‘Who are you?’ said a youngish voice. He was utterly taken aback - the girl would be quite beautiful, if it weren’t for the horrific scars that slashed across her face. This did not seem to bother her, however - though it crossed her mouth she had merely put her lipstick over it, and though she could have hidden a great deal of it with careful placement of her hair, she had it up in a crown braid. She was frowning up at him slightly. ‘I don’t know you, but you’re about my age, and I thought I knew everybody. Are you someone terribly exotic?’ 

‘Oh, erm,’ he wiped his hand hastily on his trousers, and shook hers. ‘I’m Dudley - Harry’s cousin.’ 

‘Merlin’s beard - tell me everything,’ said the girl, her eyes lighting up. ‘What was he like when he was little? I bet he was a sweetheart, wasn’t he?’ She turned. ‘Parvati! It’s Harry’s cousin!’ 

A South Asian girl squealed and hurried over, clutching a cocktail glass. ‘Oh my god, from the muggles? PLEASE tell me you have some adorable baby pictures or something?’ she asked. 

‘I - I don’t,’ he said apologetically, but the other girl tutted. 

‘Who carries around their cousin’s baby pictures? Now, come on - some funny, embarrassing stories of Harry at once, please. I promise I won’t go to the press about it.’ 

‘The - the press?’ 

‘God, Witch Weekly would eat up some adorable baby Harry stories, wouldn’t they?’ she said. ‘Can you imagine?’ 

Both girls were laughing now, but Dudley was trying very hard to think of a sweet or funny story about Harry from his childhood. Quite frankly, he couldn’t really remember Harry being in it much at all and when he did, it was always with an unpleasant lurch in his stomach, a twisting of his guts. All he could remember was absolutely pummelling him, while he shielded his head or tried to wriggle out of Malcolm twisting his arm behind his back, and something told him that wasn’t the kind of story they meant. They must have played together sometimes, surely, but all he could remember was his toys, and Harry didn’t really seem to appear at all. He frowned desperately, then there was a slight rush of inspiration as he remembered, a handful of Saturday mornings, when his parents weren’t out of bed yet, Harry on one end of the sofa and he on the other. 

‘We used to watch telly together, sometimes. The Clangers, remember them?’ he made the noise of the clangers, and they stared at him in bafflement. ‘You know, the little knitted things that lived on the moon, and… No? Do you… do you lot not have tellies?’ 

Parvati frowned. ‘Erm… are they those box things with the little people inside?’

‘I… what?’ 

There was an aching silence. ‘Hey!’ said the original girl suddenly. ‘When did he first start to show magic?’ 

‘I… I don’t know. I swear I saw him fly up onto the school roof once…’ 

They both laughed. ‘Of course he did,’ she said. 

‘So Harry,’ giggled Parvati. 

‘The press would love that. Headline news, I bet.’ 

‘Big D!’ 

He looked over. Harry was slightly pink faced, and he clumsily clapped him on the shoulder as he approached, but he was smiling pleasantly at him. ‘Glad to see you’ve met Lavender and Parvati.’ 

‘We were trying to wheedle embarrassing childhood stories out of him, Harry,’ said Lavender. ‘But he’s being tight lipped.’ 

‘Thank God for that,’ said Harry, who looked amused, but all the same gave Dudley what he thought was quite a nervous glance. ‘I had to escape from the dancing - they’ve started playing the Rogue Bludgers,’ he told the girls. 

‘Merlin’s pants, I love them!’ shouted Lavender. ‘Come on, Parvati!’ 

Once the girls were gone, Harry turned to him again, smiling. ‘Ginny told me you’d arrived - how are you?’

‘Congratulations,’ he said to him. ‘On the wedding. It’s great.’ 

Harry’s grin widened. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, it was all very hush hush - nowhere near as big as your wedding.’ 

‘You’ve got a pretty big crowd here,’ Dudley mumbled. ‘I didn’t realise you were so popular.’

Harry simply laughed. ‘Well, you know - things change.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Dudley frowned. ‘Are you famous? Dedalous and Hestia said you were, but I thought, maybe they meant… I dunno, I didn’t really…’ 

‘Oh, bloody hell - they’re here, you know! Or they were. Somewhere. Erm… I think Dedalous might have gone onto the roof to try and arrange some shooting stars or something, he was waffling on about it, and Hestia’s dancing.’ 

‘They are? I’d like to-’

‘HARRY!’ A man barrelled into Harry, nearly knocking him sideways, but staggering slightly as Harry laughed and supported him, patting at the arm that had been flung around his neck. 

‘Oliver, this is Dudley, my cousin. Dudley - Oliver was my Quidditch captain-’

‘Best bloody seeker I’ve ever come across!’ Oliver shouted at Dudley, fumbling with his beer bottle to point at Harry as he swayed dangerously. ‘No, no, don’t shake your head, Potter - it’s a crying shame you’ve gone off chasing dark wizards, crying shame! But you’ll talk some sense into him, won’t you?’ he demanded of Dudley. 

‘Quidditch?’ asked Dudley, frowning. 

Oliver squinted at him, then looked with disgust at Harry, who laughed. ‘I was raised by muggles, Oliver,’ he said. ‘You know that.’ 

Oliver swore loudly, and stared back at Dudley. ‘You don’t know Quidditch? Right. Right. Come on - I’m about to blow your mind.’ He seized Dudley’s arm, and, despite Dudley’s not inconsequential strength, began to drag him to the back door, shouting out names like ‘George! Angelina! Charlie! You - Katie! Come on!’ 

‘Enjoy, Big D!’ Harry called after him, sounding extremely amused. 

Dudley was pulled into a large back garden - the evening was truly descending now, and mist was rolling almost menacingly over the dark hills. It was really quiet eerily beautiful, if still frighteningly remote. He wondered where all the people here were staying tonight - the hotel in Ottery St Catchpole only had ten rooms. People were gathered, smoking and drinking on the patio, where a little brazier was burning and little jars of what looked bizarrely like fairies hovered above their heads like lamps, but Oliver pulled him and called out for various others, onto the lawn. 

Before he knew it, Dudley was watching in bafflement as people clumsily clutched brooms from a little shed in the corner, sat blearily upon them, and shot up into the air. Oliver was bellowing down incomprehensible explanations to him, a man called Charlie was yelling back, ‘he’s not going to understand, you drunk idiot!’, they were all chucking a large ball rather violently to one another, lunging about drunkenly, as though they were about to fall the fifteen feet down to the ground, but still, somehow, zooming around unsteadily like bats. A dreadlocked man, his arm around a giggling girl, staggered over to the sidelines and began to loudly commentate. 

‘Oi! OI!’ a plump, red-haired woman was running out, brandishing a shattered champagne flute at them. ‘Don’t drink and fly! I shouldn’t have to tell you that - GEORGE! CHARLIE! Get down at once - what sort of example are you setting for the children-’

‘They’re dancing!’ the man called George shouted back. ‘I saw Teddy sliding about on his knees! They can’t see me out here!’ 

‘Get down at once!’

‘Ah, Mrs Weasley,’ began the dreadlocked man, in a placating tone. 

She pointed the broken glass at him threateningly. ‘Don’t you Mrs Weasley me, Lee Jordan, not unless you’re in a state to apparate which ever idiot falls off their broom to St Mungo’s! Well? Are you?’ 

‘No…’ 

‘No, I thought not,’ she said, in a satisfied voice. She seemed to notice Dudley for the first time, with a little double take. ‘Oh, hello, dear,’ she said, in a much pleasanter voice. ‘Are you someone’s plus one?’ 

‘No, I’m - I’m Dudley, Har-’

‘Oh! Of course!’ she said loudly. ‘Right, yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you.’ She suddenly looked highly uncomfortable. 

‘I didn’t recognise you either,’ he said apologetically, because in all honesty he only faintly remembered her. 

‘Yes, well… Enjoy yourself, won’t you, dear?’ she said, in an oddly cold sort of voice, and then she was bustling away again. 

The man that had been called Charlie landed beside him, frowning after his mother. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said blearily. ‘I think my mum’s a bit stressed at the moment. Charlie,’ he said, offering his hand. 

‘Dudley,’ he replied, shaking it. ‘Harry’s cousin.’

The man looked at him. ‘Ahhh…’ he said, with a tone of dawning recognition. ‘Come on, come get a drink with me on the patio, keep out the way of my mad family.’ 

So Dudley stood by the warmth of the brazier, with people that seemed a little older than those he had talked to before, another firewhiskey being pressed into his hand. Charlie leaned close, muttering in his ear, ‘all big cheeses round here, these are the people to know, you know? That’s Gwenog Jones, she’s Ginny’s captain, and Healer Gower, he’s attends to Harry personally, and over here we have Williamson, you’ll have met him at the gate, he’s a colleague of Harry’s - and that’s Robards, Harry’s boss, and that man there is the Minister for Magic - like our prime minister,’ he added casually. ‘Top dog.’ 

Dudley blinked stupidly at the tall, black man, who was laughing at something Robards was saying. ‘Here?’ he said. ‘At Harry’s party?’ 

‘Yeah, well, you know,’ said Charlie with a shrug. ‘He’s a nice bloke, Kingsley, even if he is Minister. Principled, you know?’ 

‘Right…’ 

By his second drink, the man Charlie had called Healer Gower had introduced himself enthusiastically, and, upon hearing that Dudley had grown up with Harry, groaned. 

‘Good grief, tell me he was better back then? Tell me he wasn’t getting himself into ridiculous situations that kept poor old boys like me working away through the night?’ 

‘Er…’ said Dudley, who was starting to feel he was saying nothing but ‘er’ tonight. 

‘Ah, Healer Gower,’ said Charlie easily. ‘You know most people don’t know the half of it with Harry.’ 

‘Always getting himself injured!’ said Gower loudly, with an exasperated expression. ‘I daresay I know that young man more intimately than most-’

‘Well,’ said Williamson, smirking, ‘I would say that Gi-’

‘Say my sister’s name, and your a dead man,’ said Charlie sharply, to general laughter. 

‘It’s just nice to see him without there being any blood on the floor,’ continued Gower. ‘Always getting into scraps as a kid, too, I expect?’ 

‘So I’ve heard,’ said Charlie, and Dudley felt suddenly highly uncomfortable again. 

It did not matter, however, because soon another drink had been given to him, and Hestia turned up, gave him a double take, before embracing him slightly awkwardly and enquiring, apparently reluctantly, after his parents. 

‘They’re fine… How are you?’ 

But she could not answer, because the increasingly large group around the fire was descending into further revellry. 

‘AND DID THOSE FEEET, IN ANCIENT TIMES!’ bellowed Healer Gower. ‘WALK UPON ENGLAND’S - I yes, another mead, if you wouldn’t mind, dear - MOUNTAIN’S GREEN!’ 

Before he knew it, the man’s arm was slung around Dudley, who by now was feeling rather drunk himself, and he was singing along to the hymn, the only thing he had really recognised all night. 

His brain became rather fuzzy from that point on, much like his own wedding, though it was certainly firewhiskey induced. He was vaguely aware of some girls, friends of Ginny’s they said, pulling him into a packed dining room that had been transformed into a dance floor, where he danced to music he had never heard before in his life from a gramaphone the size of a small car. He remembered seeing Harry and Ginny briefly again as they walked with a dark haired woman, clutching a sleeping boy with bright blue hair over her shoulder, to the door, apparently bidding her goodbye. He even vaguely remembered bumping into the huge giant of the man, choking back tears, and blurting out, ‘you gave me that tail!’ without realising he had an audience around him. 

‘Ah, yeah, sorry abou’ tha’,’ said the man awkwardly. ‘I was mebbe a bit rash. You’re all righ’ now though, aren’t yeh?’ 

Dudley had nodded, and an owl-like girl with dirty blonde hair had rubbed his back soothingly and said, ‘it must have been scary. You’re sorry, aren’t you, Hagrid?’ 

‘Yeh,’ said the giant gruffly. ‘Yeh, you was only a kid. I’m sure Harry wouldn’t’ve invited yeh if yeh hadn’t changed.’ 

And then, finally, as the guests began to trickle away and Dudley thought the walk down to the village might sober him up and stop him from vomiting in his cousin’s house, he decided it was time to leave. He staggered back towards the gate, but heard a final call. 

‘Hey! Big D! You leaving?’ 

Harry barrelled into him, followed by an exasperated man, another redhead, who was saying, ‘Harry…’ wearily. 

‘Harry,’ slurred Dudley, ‘yeah, yeah, I’m… smashed. Gotta hotel.’ 

‘You definitely got somewhere to go?’ Harry asked, swaying on the spot. ‘If you need a spare room.’ 

‘Nah, yeah, nah, I’ve… I’ve gotta room in the… in the White Swan hotel.’ 

‘Right, good,’ said the red haired man. ‘There you go, Harry. All fine. Come on...’

‘Ron,’ said Harry loudly, ‘this is Dudley.’ 

‘I know, Harry… How are you, mate?’ said Ron to Dudley. ‘Had a nice time?’ 

‘Yeah. Yeah it’s been - I didn’t realise. Well done, mate, I didn’t realise… you… you’ve done well.’ 

‘Yeah,’ slurred Harry. ‘Yeah, I have. I love everyone here - Ron,’ he said loudly. ‘I love everyone here.’ 

‘I know, mate…’ 

‘I’m… I’m really sorry about-’

‘Ssh!’ Harry said, clapping a hand over Dudley’s mouth. ‘Please don’t talk about my childhood, it was proper shit. I don’t want to think about it.’ 

‘Right, come on, Harry,’ said Ron, more firmly, trying to pull him away. 

‘But we’re all right, aren’t we, Big D?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Dudley told him, once he had removed his hand from his mouth. ‘Yeah, we’re all right. See you soon, yeah?’

‘See you, Big D!’


End file.
